


Queen of the Buskers

by Mouthfullawhitelies



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fate is the biggest Choni shipper, France in early-1900s Au, Hurt/Comfort, Many Flashbacks, Romani Serpents, Romani!Toni, childhood Choni, elitist!Cheryl, rags vs riches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouthfullawhitelies/pseuds/Mouthfullawhitelies
Summary: “Do us all a favour and find some other city to debase with your hardscrapple ways,” she sneered, venom laid heavy on her tongue.“Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face?”“Happily, queen of the buskers!”-------Paris, France 1910. In which Cheryl Blossom, a French aristocrat dealing with the news of her brother’s apparent death, meets, or rather, reunites with a certain pink-haired friend.Toni Topaz, an orphan who plays the violin on the streets to make money while also facing some hardships of her own from people like the Blossom family, racists who hates the very blood that runs in her veins.They come from vastly different worlds. However, fate works hard to make sure that their worlds collide.Bonus: Did I mention that Toni plays the violin? Hence, “queen of the buskers”.





	1. Ange en Blanc

**Author's Note:**

> An early-1900s AU.
> 
> The love story of the century.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Cheryl, your average rich girl with lots of emotional baggage.

 

Cheryl.

1910 -- present.

 

 

Paris seems much dimmer ever since Jason left for the Americas, ever since he --

 

...

 

The city seems void and empty as the litterings of the newspapers that articled the tragic death of the Blossom heir continued to circulate the city. Jason is all around her even though he so painfully isn’t; people crowd her with their sympathies and condolences, she is surrounded by people but she is alone.

Cheryl Blossom mourns alone as the ghost of her twin haunts the city.

 _What kind of cruel punishment is this?_ She thinks. _Why would the universe take away the one thing she loved most? Maybe Penelope is right… she is so loveless that she only ever had one person and that person is now gone._

She suddenly can’t breathe. The wind hit her lungs and filled it shut. She is _suffocating_.

 

Jason is _dead_.

 

In place of Jason, news of his death arrived to shore, made its way to the city, and knocked on the door of Thornhill with a bowed head and a hat in hand offering its condolences, its deepest sympathies. Word made its way around the city and perked the ears of newspapers. Soon enough Jason’s death was blasted all throughout the province, and something so personal and private became everyone’s gossip and worse, the center of pity.

The one thing Cheryl hated more than the blatant disrespect of the townspeople was the pity. The fake sympathy. Cheryl Blossom is anything but weak, and the last thing she needs is your unwanted pity. However, she can’t keep herself locked up in Thornhill all week; not that her parents would care for their daughter’s coping with all of this. They could care less if she stayed in the house for the entire year as long as she is quiet and away from attention. God forbids she embarrasses the Blossoms more than she already did at Jason’s burial. But- since Cheryl is neither weak nor dependent on her parents’ support, she found herself outside of the mansion with the intent of a quick, mindless stroll around the block. In this family, the twins used to look out for each other, Jason used to protect her from her parents’ fire and ice. Now, she looks out for herself. She takes this walk for her health, for her sanity, for _herself_.

 

Cheryl Blossom is _not_ weak.

 

She walks with confidence in her strides, her expressionless face held up high. She wears the scarlet in her hair with pride (the same Blossom pride she despises so much). The clear white veil from her hat that she adorned fell gently to the side of her face to cover her pale complexion. There were many stares as she left the bigger, more rich estates of the elites, but as she reached the busier side of the town, people were too preoccupied with the rush of their lives to notice the red-head clad in pure white.

A light gush of breeze brushed by her and calmed her when suddenly she hears  a childhood tune as it serenaded the streets of Paris in the form of a half-tuned violin.

Like a moth to a flame, a victim to the Pied Piper, she followed the tune knowing full-well where her heart was trying to lead her. Rounding the corner with a soothed heart, the music eased the migraine in her head as it gently created a safe bubble around her, a bubble that hasn’t existed since Jason left her. Her eyes relaxed and the smallest hint of a smile formed on her face. 

Although her head was heavy and unwilling, her eyes forced her to turn towards the source of euphony. She sees a familiar flash of pink hair and her heart quakes at the familiarity, the instant comfort that it craved.

Watching from a far distant, she doesn’t know how long she stood there for but her ears managed to block out the entire city of Paris to focus on the violin. But then the violin stopped, and her reverie was broken and reality came back like an iced bucket of water.

Gentle brown eyes gazed upon her. And it felt as though they were the only two people, it felt as though time has stopped and reset, and it was just them: the newly-founded heiress and the gypsy girl. Her heart clenched at the thought but the brain forced her to stay grounded, to stay strong. But the gentle concern on the woman’s eyes never wavered, silently asking a question across the street.

_“Are you okay?”_

Cheryl took a sharp breath of cold air, stilled her heart, and hardened her eyes.

 

_No._

 

and with that she walked away.

 

\---

 

No, Cheryl Blossom is not weak. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter -- just an intro from Cheryl's POV


	2. From the Streets of Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Toni, your average violin-playing orphan.

 

Toni.

1910 -- present

 

 

30 feet away, the girl shifted. Cheryl Blossom had walked to the southside of the city for the first time in weeks. Toni felt her presence before she saw her and when she did - when she saw her standing there, the music notes began to die out as her hands stopped moving. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the angel dressed in white, 30 feet away from her. Red burned her eyes as it always did before; however today, it was dull. No longer was it a powerful fire that Toni always thought resembled a halo around her head. She didn't see the sun when she looked at Cheryl, instead she saw a tired girl. Her heart broke and sadness filled her when she realised how alone Cheryl looked from across the street. She wanted so badly to cross the street and hold the girl, to promise her that things will get better. But instead, she stood grounded.

Toni had seen the papers that flew around the city, hitting lampposts and clogging sewers.

 

> “Heir of the Blossom Maple Co. Reported Dead At Sea.”

 

Jason Blossom’s death brought the busy city to a halting stop. Silence reigned on the city of Paris when the Blossoms buried an empty casket. The day after, however, respect and condolences seems to have faded into gossip and conspiracy theories. From the streets, Toni heard it all. She had heard the many versions of Jason’s life and death from many people. How they adored Jason but feared the family; how Clifford Blossom deserved it after the many times he had screwed people over; how the family was cursed with endless cycles of tragedies. She had heard it all from everyone but Cheryl, the girl whose heart was closest to the tragedy.

She knows she shouldn’t care. She knows her heart shouldn't be broken for Cheryl. She knows that people like the Blossoms despised her and her people, scorn the very blood that runs in her veins. Degraded to “scums of earth”, “gypsies”, “the weak blood”, “snakes”, any other racial slurs. The Romani people has been in France for as long as the French did, they stayed as a minority and migrate to and fro. The Serpents has been around longer than the _Blossoms_ did. Toni’s ancestors were there when Barnabas B. Blossom murdered his own twin brother.

 

And people say _they_  were the dirty scumbags…

 

“Oi, Toni!” She heard Sweetpea yell, waving from afar, “how much d’you make today?”

She looked at the pan beneath her and sighed, “As of now… 10 francs,”

He huffed and looked down, searching through his satchel. “Here’s 20,” he threw the coins in the pan, “and don’t sweat it. The man I worked for today was loaded.”

“Wait Sweetpea… are you still-” Toni paused, hoping that she doesn’t have to finish that sentence. She doesn’t _want_ to finish that sentence. Sweetpea didn’t say anything, he just looked at the dirt on the cap of his shoes. His silence did the answering.

“Merde, you promised me you’d stop! You promised me that no matter how low we were, you would not get into that kind of business. Us against the world, remember? Do you how much trouble you can get into? You’re already Romani, people already think we’re fucking _scums_ , are you trying to prove them right?! This was exactly how my mom-”

“I know, I know - fuck. But it’s not like we have good choices to choose from. We’re not the Blossoms, we’re not even the freaking Baudin’s from across the street. We’re not like them, Toni. We don’t have choices. You think if I walked into that hardware store right there, got on my knees, and begged for a job - a fucking floor sweeper, the garbage man, anything - you think they’ll even consider hiring a _wretch_. God forbids what happens when the customers see us, the dirty thieves that we are.”

Sweetpea spits fire her way, but his heart broke as soon as he saw the disappointed look in Toni’s face.

“It’s our only way to survive.”

She sighed and tilted her head away, “Fangs too?”

The raven-haired boy nodded solemnly, “Toni, we promise you we will keep you away from everything. We’ll do everything in our power to make sure you are not involved. I swore to Ophelia that I will protect you when she passed, to keep you away from that shit. I’m taking that oath with me till I die.”

“I don’t need your protection. I just need you and Fangs to be safe and alive,” Sweetpea nodded. “Can you at least tell me how in deep you guys are? Is it still the same ‘mysterious’ supplier?”

“Don’t worry about it okay? For now keep doing what you love and play the fuck outta that viola,”

“It’s a violin,”

“That’s what I said,” he shrugged with half a smirk on his face, “Listen, if we keep up with what we’re doing, Fangs and I can get you a new one of those for your birthday.”

“Sweets, you know I don’t want a new one,”

“I know,” he winked, a boyish smirk on his face, “Oh hey! If I get Fangs to buy us some bread for tonight, will you make those famous Topaz _manriklo?"_

“Fine,” she says, “now go, you’re scaring off my potential patrons.” Raising his hand above his head, the leather-clad boy backed away in mock surrender.

“But hey listen T,” he says softly, a look in his eyes she haven’t seen since they were children, “us against the world, ok? Till the very end.”

 

Toni just nodded and sighed. Sweetpea and Fangs are like her brothers. She loves them to death, if anything happened to them, she doesn’t what she’d do. They’ve been there for each other since the very beginning, the three of them were inseparable. They were there when the Serpents got evicted, when she was too young to understand why her mother was crying afterwards. They were there when she first got shoved into the mud by sneering neighbourhood rich boys, and they were there afterwards to beat the boys to a pulp. They were there for her when her mom died, and when her already bad situation turned worse; when people started to get ruder, more malicious, more hostile. They were there when the world was not.

Bonded through something thicker than blood, the three were inseparable. They told each other everything, up until they didn’t anymore. Sweetpea started to get more secretive and Toni started to recognize the fake smiles on Fangs’ face whenever he would try to brush off her questions about the cuts on his face and bruises on his ribs. They were both protective of her, but at least with Fangs, he would only retaliate when Toni is physically hurt; Toni was at least able to easily calm Fangs down. Sweetpea, however, was a completely different story. While Fangs had more sense in him to make sure that violence would be the last resort, Sweetpea would rather deal with the situation quickly, screw the consequences. Any cuts or bruises on Toni would warrant a war. He growls and ignores it when people scorn at him or Fangs, but he sees red when people assaults Toni verbally; and he sees black when people assaults her physically. 

 

 **So** of course, she doesn’t tell Sweetpea about how many people come up to her just to spit in her pan, to scorn her with malice, yell out some racist slurs. She doesn’t tell him about the way mothers would put a hand on their children’s shoulders and guide them away from her, to protect the children from “thieving scums” like her. She doesn't tell him how her heart breaks everyday when it happens, to physically feel and see how the world has turned against her. She doesn’t tell him because she knew he’ll get mad at no one particularly, just at himself and the world, he'll curse out God, and then he’ll brood for days and shut her out. She doesn’t tell him because it happens to her every damn day, and she takes it and pounds her heart to steel. 

There will _not_ be a war in Paris in her lifetime. Nope. She will **not** be responsible for any casualties at the hands of the one-man army of Sweetpea. 

So that’s why she doesn’t tell Sweetpea about a certain redhead she saw today. They both know that there’s only one distinct family of redheads in the entire city of Paris: the notorious Blossoms. The uber racists. The patriarch, Cliff Blossom, owns the biggest maple trust, and the matriarch is just the characterization of Cruella de Vil. 

What Toni doesn’t know is that Clifford Blossom also has a hand in the drug market, the same one Sweetpea and Fangs wet their feet in. If Sweetpea were to find out that Toni frequently has an encounter with his supplier’s daughter, he would have an aneurysm after, of course, killing Toni.

So, it doesn't come as a surprise when she also didn’t tell him about how many times she has considered using all the francs she’s made this week to buy Cheryl Blossom a bouquet flowers to show her condolences.

She just picks up the bow and mindlessly starts playing the same melody her mother had played right before she passed. She gently slides the threads of her bow across the strings of the old violin all the while thinking of a specific shade of red as it continues to sear into her mind.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a few liberties here and there -- but since in the show, Toni's mother is not mentioned, it is assumed that she either left her or died. So even though I hate creating original characters... meet Ophelia Topaz. She is there for the sake of telling Toni's past so STAY TF TUNED. 
> 
> (If the show ever mentions the name of her mother, I'll change it to that no worries)
> 
> \- Next chap. Flashbacks. Be ready for ~8 yr old Choni.


	3. Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 year-old Choni.

 

Cheryl.

9 years ago

 

 

Dressed in white, an 8 year-old Cheryl walked hand-in-hand with her twin brother Jason as they passed through the streets of Paris, their maid watching with a close eye from behind them. Jason said he wanted to take Cheryl out today to show her something he thought she would like.

“Jay-Jay, where are we going?” Cheryl asked, excitement overpowering her patience as she got dragged by her brother downtown.

“Come on! Yesterday when I was out with father, we walked by this group of performers. I really want to hear them again since I hadn’t had a chance yesterday.”

Her brother’s own excitement accelerated hers as she followed her brother into the marketplace. As they walked along the city sidewalk, Cheryl could hear the soft melodies of an accordion and the violin, both somehow complimenting each other.

As Jason continued to drag her around the corner, the music got closer and closer until Cheryl saw an old man in his 70s playing a huge maroon-coloured accordion and a woman in her 40s playing the sweetest melodies from the violin.

The man has a scruffy white beard and a worn-out beanie on his head while the woman looked beautiful despite the visible wrinkles on her face. Her curly hair seemed unkempt and there was dirt on her beige dress. There were bags under her eyes accompanied by a few wrinkles on the cheeks, but she was still smiling with her eyes partly closed as she swayed along to her violin. Cheryl thought she looked beautiful.

She looked over to see her brother smiling contently at the performance. Squeezing his hand, she moved closer to him and closed her eyes to focus on the violin. She loved how gentle the strings sounded as it vibrated in the open air. The music was soft and sharp at the same time, it was liberating.

When the pair was done performing, Jason pleaded to the maid for some money to give both the lady and the man. Reluctantly, she handed each of them 20 francs. Cheryl went straight over to the lady with the violin and bent down to place the coins in her collection platter. When she got up, the lady was looking at her with a tilted head and a soft smile on her face.

“Merci,” She said tenderly with nothing but kindness in her eyes. Cheryl ducked her head in shyness before remembering what her own parents had scolded her about her timidness. Straightening up, she faced up at the lady and said with confidence laced in her voice, “I liked the song. Your handling of the violin was exceptional and deserving of applause.”

 

In that second, a flash of _something_ rushed towards the lady and tugged at her dress.

 

“Maman! Fangy and I found some money, can we buy some candy?” It was a girl. On her tippy-toes as she tried to get the attention of her mother. She was dark like her mother, her hair curly. When the needy girl felt eyes on her, she turned to look at the girl in white. Cheryl saw how the girl’s eyes lingered on her hair and slowly moved down to her eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, the dark-haired girl tucked herself behind her mother’s legs. After a second of peeking at Cheryl, and familiarizing herself with the girl’s scary face (Cheryl’s face was merely scrunched up as she scrutinized the girl), she popped her head out in full confidence.

 _“Coucou!”_ The dark-haired girl greeted, a wide smile suddenly replacing the previously unsure look on her face.

Cheryl, who is still staring deeply at the girl: studying her facial features, comparing herself to the girl, simply just looks back up at the mother, nodded and walked away without replying nor sparing one last glance at the girl. She headed back to Jason who was visibly arguing with their maid, trying to bargain for more coins to give.

 

Grasping his hand, the twins head home together.  

 

\-----

 

The second time Cheryl ran into the needy girl from the marketplace was when she returned there the next day. This time, without her brother.

She found the lady at the same spot in the marketplace. This time the girl sat behind her mother. Today, Cheryl made sure to bring 50 Francs for the woman.

The song ended much to her dismay. She went over to place the Francs in her plate when the same girl from yesterday appeared in front of her. She was bouncing slightly on the tip of her toes, her smile wide as she inspected Cheryl.

 

Cheryl knew she was going to be stuck in a conversation with this smiling idiot.

 

“My name is Toni Topaz. What’s yours?” Toni asks, her head tilted to the side in a way that reminded Cheryl of a puppy dog. She found this to be endearing, remembering how Toni’s mom did the same thing when she looked at her yesterday.

“Cheryl Blossom,” she said with a tone of pride in her voice. She straightens her posture.

“Cheryl…” Toni rolls her name in her mouth, her face scrunching up at the foreign sound in her mouth, “how about I call you Cherry? Like the fruit that is as red as the scarlet of your hair?”

“No,” she says simply.

“Blossom…” Completely ignoring her, Toni now tries with her family’s name.

Strangely enough, Cheryl felt vulnerable. Never in her entire **8** **years** of existence had she had someone sound out her name so intensely. She was always told to say their family name with pride, for it was the “most defining and important feature” about her. And she did, pride turned to arrogance but her parents didn’t care. But here Cheryl was, her heart pounding loudly as the girl in front of her tries to sound out her name.

“Blossom… like the flowers? The pink flowers from the pink trees,” Toni exclaims, excitement lighting up her eyes.

“Y-yes. What kind of name is Toni anyways?” Cheryl deflects, “Isn’t it a boy’s name? And Topaz… that’s a gem.”

“I guess so… my ma said my full first name was actually- um,” Toni blushes as looks at the floor for answers, Cheryl saw how her hands kept clenching at her dress, signifying how Toni was just as nervous as she was. Good, she smirked proudly. Cheryl is no longer the bumbling fool in this conversation, she has somewhat of an upper-hand.

“An-toy-nit,” Toni slowly sounded, glad it finally came back to her. Blushing, slightly embarrassed that she had forgotten her actual name.

“Antoi… _nit?”_   Cheryl sounded with a confused grimace as Toni nodded with confidence, “did you perhaps meant to say, ‘Antoinette’?”

“Yes, that’s it! That’s my name!” Toni exclaimed enthusiastically, she jumped and clasped her hands together, “Cherry Blossom, my name is An-toy-nette Topaz.”

 

Cheryl can’t help but think just how adorable Antoinette Topaz was.

 

\---

 

After that, Cheryl went out everyday. Jason started to notice how often Cheryl volunteers to accompany the maid to the market for groceries. Before, Cheryl could care less about her. Now, at 11AM every morning, the two went out to the marketplace. Cheryl would bring at least 30 francs every time.

This time, however, Toni was handling the violin to Cheryl's slight dismay. Although she does wonder if the girl was any good. Her mother stood beside her and tapped on her shoulder when she was ready to start.

Melodies flowed from the violin and vibrated in the cold autumn air. It was a sweet melody, one that could tame lions. _Not bad,_ Cheryl thought, a small smile forming on her face. After the second play of the melody, her mother stepped up and sang in a language she did not recognize. It was foreign yet soothing.

 

_You sound as soft as songbirds,_

_Your wings they conquer winds,_

_My love, I dare not to linger_

_For it’s too dangerous for me to stare at the sun~_

 

A small crowd formed, the passersby drawn to her like sailors to the sirens. Cheryl is thoroughly convinced she was listening to the voice of an angel.

 

_O my darling, your love makes my lungs bloom;_

_And like the flowers of spring, my heart blossoms,_

 

_My love, can you hear the wind_

_As they sing my song to you;_

_I love you darling, I love you~_

 

The short performance ended and people clapped. Cheryl, however, was still in a trance broken only when people started to go up to place coins in her collection platter. The redheaded girl tried to squeeze up to the front, to give the woman her 30 francs. She saw the woman conversing with a man, and Toni behind her.

“Bonjour newly-minted busker,” Cheryl teases and watches with delight as the other girl blushed.

“It’s actually my first time playing in front of a crowd… I would practice everyday and today, my ma decided to let me try,” Toni mumbles, a light shade of blush still coloured on her cheeks.

“You did well TT. You should be proud,” Cheryl praises, her chin tilted up a bit with a proud smile on her face.

“I’m not half as good as my mom though,” Toni tried to stay humbled, still refusing to catch Cheryl’s eyes which is gazed intently on her.

“Obviously,” Cheryl retorts, glancing away, “Bien sûr que non.”

Toni smiles at her bluntness, finally making eye-contact with her. Cheryl, in turn, blushes at the sudden attention on her.  

“So what was that song your maman sang just now?” Cheryl asked after a few second of awkward silence.

“Oh! That’s a Roma lullaby that her mother used to sing to her when she was little. Now she sings it to me whenever I can’t sleep,” Toni explained, glancing back at her mom.

“Oh… well I do wish to learn the Romani language some day to understand this song. It sounded beautiful, nothing like the French songs. Your maman has a pretty voice,” Cheryl said in the softest voice possible, sincerity shown in her smile. Toni melts.

 _“Vraiment?”_ The girl asked with excitement as Cheryl nodded eagerly, “Okay! Then I’ll have to teach you some phrases some day!”

While the girls continued on with their mindless conversation, Cheryl’s mind is still tingling from the sweet melodies of the performance. She realises today that she’d much rather listen to a violin. Although the piano sounds beautiful, the violin is also elegant in its own way. Ever since Jason brought her out to the marketplace in the southside of Paris, Cheryl found herself profoundly interested in the soothing melodies of the string instrument which sounds light and soft whereas the piano sounded heavier and deeper, more potential to be powerful. She’d much rather prefer to listen to the violin, she found it much more liberating as the strings travel lightly through air.

“Play the violin for me,” Cheryl demanded softly, interrupting Toni mid-sentence. Her eyes steel with determination.

“Oh, I can teach you if you want,” Toni offered instead, taking note of how whenever Cheryl was interested in something, her lips would purse together and her eyebrows would furrow, her eyes of steel determination.

“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “I want you to play it- that song. I already play the piano. I want to hear _you_ play it.”

“Ok,” Toni chuckles lightly and picks up the bow. When she began her first note, she saw how the redhead closed her eyes and relaxed in the blanket of soft tunes from the violin.

 

 _Cherry Blossom is sorta adorable,_ she thinks to herself.

 

 

 


	4. Dozen Stolen Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bby Choni again -- still young and innocent

 

 

Cheryl visits her everyday. Everyday, for a month, Toni plays a song for her. Everyday, for a month, Cheryl learns something new about Toni: the way the girl tilts her head whenever she’s thinking; the way her eyes close when she plays the violin; the love she has for animals, the strays especially.

 _They’re just like me,_ she’d say.

_People say they’re on the streets because they’re unloved, but that’s not true. I love them- just like how my mom loves me, and how Fangs and Sweets and I love each other. They’re not unloveable, Cheryl. Nothing is unloveable._

 

As for Toni, she learned a lot about Cheryl too. Cheryl Blossom likes to bite her lips when she thinks. She'd always speak her mind and then regret it afterwards if she knew she’d gone too far; Cheryl also likes to draw. She likes to draw flowers and people, Toni especially. She loves to draw Toni Topaz. Toni would play to her a song as she draw Toni beneath the shade: her eyes closed, a small and soft smile on her face, small hands grasping a scratched-up violin and its bow, her body bent to fit the movement. She’d bite her lips and narrow her eyes intently when she draws Toni’s hair: it’s always the hardest for her to draw.

 

All the things they learned about each other, they found endearing. It’s lovable quirks that compelled Cheryl to come back everyday, and it’s endearing habits that makes Toni stay alongside her mother all afternoon and evening as she waits for the redhead. Sometimes, she would even dress nicer for Cheryl. 

 

“I want red-hair,” Toni said suddenly as she played with Cheryl’s locks. They were seated on the steps of the Catholic Church, Cheryl had her eyes closed as Toni braids her scarlet locks.

“Hmm?” Cheryl hummed, too relaxed in her trance from the feeling of Toni’s hand in her hair.

“I want to have red hair like you,” Toni explains. Cheryl’s eyes pop open, her nose scrunched up.

“Why? I like you with brown hair,” Cheryl turns to Toni and takes a curly lock in her palm.

“But everyone has dark hair!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“That means I’m not special,”

Cheryl was incredulous and offended. She scoffed, “Well who cares what everyone else thinks. I like you like this.”

 

Cheryl felt Toni’s hands slow in her hair and blushed when she realised the words that came out of her mouth. She turned around and saw a shy grin on Toni’s face. The usually confident girl now refusing to look at her in the eye, instead she is staring at the red braid she made.

Instead of defensively taking back her words like she usually would, she pursed her mouth and turned back in her seat, proud to have managed to elicit such a reaction from her friend.

 

\--

 

A week passed as the two grew more infatuated with each other, both fully acknowledging their crush for the other, until one day, Penelope Blossom, matriarch of the family, figured out where her daughter has been sneaking to every day.

Cheryl was about to place 20-franc coins into Ophelia Topaz’s coin platter before a hand yanked hers up and away. The violin stopped playing, the clamour of the streets paused when they saw the matriarch of the Blossom family on the southside of Paris.

“What do you think you’re doing, _Cheryl,_ _"_  her mom’s grip was searing, hard enough to bruise.

“Ma-”

“Why are you on this side of town?” Before she couldn’t even think to answer, Penelope turned to Ophelia with steel hatred in her eyes, “and _you_ \- what do you think you’re doing with my daughter? You should be ashamed, using your witchcraft to lure in young children, I can have you jailed-”

“Mother, no!” Cheryl pushed her mother away from Ophelia and stood between the two women. “Stop it! I just wanted to give her some money because I thought she had played so elegantly!”

Her mother gripped her forearm and yanked it up so that Cheryl was nearly off the ground, “what did you say, you ingrate?”

“Penelope, stop, you’re hurting her,” Ophelia warned, stepping forward to grab the girl from her mother’s death-grip. The second she touched Cheryl, Penelope shoved her away and pulled her daughter back behind her.

“Touch her again, and I will have the police hunt you and all of your scum people down. I can make sure that you will live a life not even a _rat_ would want to live.”

And with that Ophelia was silenced. Silent rage burned in her eyes as she gripped the violin in her arms.

“And _you_ \- what were you thinking using _my money_ and giving it to heathens? I can’t believe you’ve been interacting with these _pigs,_ and giving them our money? You must be out of your goddamn mind." The red-headed woman growled.

“Mother  _please-_ ” Cheryl begged, pulling her arm away from Penelope. She’s praying that Toni is not here to see this; praying that she won’t hate her after this.

“No. You listen to me- there are monsters in this world, and we are surrounded by them. The city is infested with  _dirty pests_  like them _._  Don’t you lower yourself to their level. I didn’t raise a failure. From now on, I forbid you from going to this part of town. If ever, I see you interacting with them, don’t you _dare_ come back home.”

And with that, she dragged the poor girl away. Cheryl’s face was dry with tears, her heart broken at the thought of Toni having to have possibly witnessed the whole commotion.

 

_Please don’t hate me, Toni._

 

\--

 

20 feet away, a dozen roses fell to the floor. Drops of tears trickled down along onto the ground. Hidden behind a brick fence was Toni who had heard every single word Penelope had spit out. The more Penelope spoke, the more tears spilled out of her until it all accumulated into a sob. Leaning against the brick wall, she crouched down and brought her knees up to her chest. Her visions were blurry as she tried to focus on her shaking hands.

 

_Heathen, rat, pig, monster, pest-_

 

Toni hugged in her legs and made herself so small, anyone walking by could miss her - a thing she always did whenever she’s afraid.

 

_But I’m not- I can’t be… Is that what she thinks?_

 

_Is that what Cheryl thinks too?_

 

“Toni?” a soft voice cried out beside her. She didn’t even realise when Fangs had arrived, “are you okay?”

 

Instead of answering and risking him hear her teary and broken voice, she gave him a watery smile. Fangs, his eyes sad with concern, slowly approached her and sat beside her, eyeing at the pile of fallen roses in front of them. Silently, Toni grabbed a fallen rose next to her and plucked out a petal. She’s been saving up her own coins to buy a bouquet of flowers for the girl. She planned it for a couple of days now. Unfortunately, the florist refused to sell them to her, saying that he’d ran out of red roses. Fangs saw behind his lie and called him out on it. Later, the boy came back and stole a dozen roses for Toni.

Little did he know that the roses were to be given to Cheryl. Little did he know that his efforts were useless anyways. A simple act to make his Toni happy, instead, made her cry as though she pricked herself on thorns that he had so carefully removed.

Toni leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Am I a monster?” she muttered quietly. Suddenly, he put two and two together and realised what had made her cry.

His fist clenched and shook before he replied, “No, you are not.”

“Then why did she- are we-”

“She is wrong, and no, we are not.” He answered Toni’s half-asked questions with steel in his voice.

“Will it get better?”

Instead of answering her immediately, he paused. He wanted to say _yes_ , he searched through all possible scenarios where their future might get better but it was simply not realistic.

He can't give her the hope she wants, and it frustrates him.

 

“No.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


End file.
